Lloyd was just about to speak, his lips parting around the first syllable of what was almost certainly going to be either heartfelt gratitude or hysterical babbling—honestly, the odds were about even given how thoroughly his understanding of reality had just been rearranged—when Silas cut in with an urgent call that sliced through the moment like a blade through silk.
"You..."
It was only a single word, unfinished and left hanging in the air, yet it carried a weight that had nothing to do with volume and everything to do with authority. The kind of tone that didn't ask for attention so much as assume compliance.
I spun slowly on one heel.
Not because I needed the time—but because moments like this deserved to be savored. The pause stretched, delicious and deliberate, as the surrounding nobles collectively held their breath, the room teetering on the edge of anticipation like an audience waiting to see whether the performer planned to bow or set something on fire.
Then I began stalking toward Silas.
My steps were unhurried, each one placed with careful intent on the polished floor, closing the distance between us with the relaxed confidence of someone who'd already decided how this exchange would end, regardless of what threats or bluster were about to be thrown my way.
Closer.
My feet made barely a sound, the humid air clinging to my skin and lending my movements a satisfying sense of weight and presence.
Closer still.
I caught the scent of cigar smoke now—rich, heavy, mingling with the mineral tang of the hot springs and something sharper beneath it. Chemical. Acrid. Possibly the lingering aftermath of whatever had so enthusiastically restructured his face, or perhaps a side effect of the glowing replacement eye that pulsed with its own internal rhythm.
I stopped just inches from him.
Close enough to see the fine web of veins radiating outward from the orange socket. Close enough to count the pale scars threading across his scalp where hair no longer bothered to grow. Close enough that when I exhaled, he could feel my breath brushing his skin—a quiet, unmistakable reminder that I was very much here, entirely unafraid, and absolutely in control of how this was about to proceed.
Then I clasped my hands behind my back, adopting a posture of casual curiosity despite the tension thrumming through my muscles, and gave him a teasing grin that showed entirely too many teeth to be friendly.
"Here's the situation," I said conversationally, pitching my voice low enough that he'd have to strain slightly to catch every word. "If you even think about stripping me of my rank or reporting this delightful little incident to the authorities—" I paused, letting my smile widen, "—I'll kill you on the spot."
I let that hang in the air between us, watching his expression carefully for any sign of how the threat was landing.
"And I want to be very clear about what 'on the spot' means in this context," I continued, maintaining that same pleasant, almost cheerful tone. "I don't mean later, when you're sleeping peacefully in your presumably expensive bed with guards at your door and magical protections woven into your walls. I mean right here, right now, in front of all these lovely nobles who came here expecting entertainment and are certainly getting their money's worth tonight. Your bodyguards are currently incapacitated and covered in their own fluids, which means you're alone, vulnerable, and standing within striking distance of someone who just demonstrated a rather alarming capacity for violence."
I straightened from my slight crouch, rolling my shoulders in a lazy, unhurried stretch that caused several nobles to flinch in unison, because apparently casual movement from me was now considered potentially threatening.
Then, without looking away from Silas, without even turning my head to address them directly, I spoke to the rest of the room with crystal clarity.
"That goes for everyone here, by the way!" I added pleasantly, "Anyone who speaks of what happened here tonight in any context that threatens me or mine will have the unique opportunity to discover just how imaginative I can be when it comes to making someone's life substantially shorter and significantly more painful."
I paused just long enough for the words to settle, for the implication to bloom in their minds.
A few nobles shrieked—high and piercing, the unmistakable sound of nerves reaching their contractual breaking point. Several tried to retreat on pure instinct, feet already carrying them toward the exit before their higher reasoning could file the appropriate paperwork, bodies lunging for the stairs that promised distance, safety, and the comforting illusion that this was all happening to someone else.
Unfortunately for them—and delightfully for me—Willow had anticipated this exact reaction because she was already blocking the stairway, bless her cursed little heart.
She stood framed in the archway with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, posture relaxed in the way only someone with absolute confidence in their leverage could manage. Her emerald eyes glowed with barely restrained amusement, bright and sharp, her tail swishing behind her in lazy arcs that suggested she was enjoying this entire spectacle immensely.
The fleeing nobles skidded to awkward, stumbling halts when they noticed her. Momentum carried them forward for half a heartbeat longer before terror abruptly reversed course. In that instant, they recoiled as one, pressing back into the crowd like water meeting a dam.
Silas remained silent for a long moment, his glowing eye locked on me with an intensity that probably should have been uncomfortable but mostly just felt like we'd accidentally entered a staring contest neither of us had formally agreed to—and which pride now prevented either of us from forfeiting.
Then he sighed.
It was a long, weighted exhalation, the kind that carried weariness, resignation, and—if I wasn't flattering myself—a faint trace of genuine respect. Smoke from his abandoned cigar curled lazily between us, drifting like incense offered at a shrine dedicated exclusively to terrible life choices and the men who kept making them.
He paused.
And then he began to chuckle.
The sound started low in his chest, a quiet, private sound, before growing into full-bodied laughter that shook his slim frame and sent the veins around his eye pulsing into a faster rhythm.
The tension fractured under it, split cleanly in two by his genuine amusement.
He shook his head, the motion making his uneven hair sway in a way that drew attention to exactly how much of it was missing. The asymmetry was almost impressive, like a sculptor had started strong, lost interest halfway through, then committed out of spite.
When he finally spoke, his sniveling voice carried something unexpected beneath the familiar menace—something that hovered dangerously close to fondness. It was the tone of a man who had just realized his evening had gone completely off-script—and, against all odds, found himself enjoying the improvisation.
"I mean you no ill will," he said, still chuckling slightly between words. "From a businessman's perspective, you were merely protecting your assets. Ensuring that your investment—in this case, Lloyd's promised sponsorship—remains viable and capable of delivering on its commitments."
He gestured with one hand, the motion elegant despite the violence that had preceded it. "I respect that. I respect the clarity of purpose, the willingness to act decisively when others would hesitate, the absolute credence in your threats that suggests you've already mentally rehearsed exactly how you'd kill me if I gave you reason."
His laughter subsided into something calmer, more calculating, his undamaged eye narrowing with curiosity.
"Tell me, what's your name? I'd like to know who just threatened to kill me with such delightful conviction," he asked.
I tilted my head, weighing the wisdom of giving my actual name versus making up something ridiculous on the spot, before deciding that lying to someone this dangerous was probably more trouble than it was worth.
"Loona," I said simply. "No fancy titles, no impressive lineage, just Loona."
Silas froze.
Not metaphorically. Not theatrically. Every muscle in his body locked at once, the sudden stillness radiating outward like his brain had just slammed into a realization so large it demanded all available processing power. You could practically see the moment the last five minutes rewired themselves in his head, everything he'd witnessed abruptly dragged into a new context and slapped with a bright red 'oh.'
Then he burst into a fresh round of laughter—louder, sharper, spilling out of him with the startled delight of a man who'd reached into a pile of aggressively ordinary junk and accidentally pulled out a priceless antique.
"Loona," he repeated, drawing out the syllables. "Loona. The same Loona who took down that Veylith brat in the Spire? The one who'd orchestrated the complete humiliation of one of the most powerful noble families in the underground? He straightened up, wiping tears from his good eye. "Oh, this is perfect. This is absolutely perfect. I'd heard stories but I assumed they were exaggerated!"
The other nobles began chattering immediately, their voices rising in a wave of speculation and disbelief that washed across the room.
"Wait, that's him?"
"The one from the arena match everyone's been talking about?"
"I thought he'd be taller—"
"Is it really him?"
Silas raised a single hand, and the room obeyed like someone had hit the mute button on reality. The nobles froze mid-breath, silence falling over them with the precision of a well-timed cue in a poorly rehearsed play.
"You're making quite a name for yourself, you know?" Silas observed, "Dangerous thing, names. They make people notice you, make you memorable, turn you from an anonymous face in the crowd into a target that others feel compelled to either eliminate or exploit."
He took a step closer. "And they make certain claims—like your very convincing threat to kill me on the spot—carry significantly more weight because people know you're not bluffing, that you've already proven yourself capable of following through on violent promises."
I matched his step with one of my own, refusing to yield ground.
"Then I'm glad we understand each other," I said, my voice steady despite the rapid beating of my heart. "My threat wasn't posturing or bravado meant to impress the audience. It was a simple statement of fact presented as clearly as I could manage."
Silas's grin widened. "Well here's an equally simple fact for you to consider," he replied. "If you killed me—right here, right now—my associates would hunt you down until the day you died. Not immediately, perhaps. They'd let you enjoy your victory for a while, let you think you'd gotten away with it, let you build something worth having so that destroying it would be all the more satisfying."
He leaned in slightly, his artificial eye pulsing brighter. "They'd take everything from you. Your friends, your establishment, your reputation, your life. All of it, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but a cautionary tale that parents told their children about what happens when you reach above your station."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to suffocate on, filled with unspoken threats and calculations that would determine whether we walked away from this as unlikely allies or inevitable enemies.
I had the distinct feeling that the next few words out of my mouth would matter considerably more than I was comfortable with.